


troll casper doesn't get paid enough for this shitfest

by Clamdiver, Pearlybj



Series: Troll Casper [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breathplay, Fuchsia John, M/M, Mentions of Dismemberment, Nook Pearls, Object Insertion, Oh look more xeno, Purple Bro, Size Difference, Stuffing, Trollstuck, Violent Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamdiver/pseuds/Clamdiver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlybj/pseuds/Pearlybj
Summary: He wore clothes he knew annoyed the Heir, interrupted meetings when he should've been busy, leaned in close before crunching the shells of sea-fish just to grate on the younger troll's ears.More and more, Jeanne was certain he could never kill the Stringer, and the troll could never kill him.It was time for a bold move, a show of faith.





	troll casper doesn't get paid enough for this shitfest

The day to day was dreary for the Empire's sole male Heir. The Empress considered him nothing more than a joke, hardly the threat past descendants represented. Uncaring for the status she herself gave him, she made a joke of his position, sending dignitaries with petulant complaints to his home.

 

That day, he was to settle a dispute between two violetbloods, old geezers that liked to whine. Fuck, was it lame. He wasn't even conscription age yet.

 

They droned on for hours. The only interesting part of the proceedings was when it was interrupted. Jeanne's personal retainer joined them, a troll hand selected by HIC herself: the Stringer.

 

Selected? More like assigned to keep him from throwing tantrums. 

 

So he wrecked a few highblood ships? What of it?

 

The older troll is brief and clinical, requesting an update from his Heir and offering his… services. The offer always gave Jeanne chills. 

 

He made the mistake of accepting once. The next day, the jadeblood he was reviewing greeted him from his ceiling, shell gutted clean and joints replaced with ball bearings. Her arm was held in a permanent wave by fine threads.

 

Stringer indeed.

 

When the older troll made his offer, Jeanne pretended to think about it, raking over the two violetbloods with his eyes. "I'll send for you if I require such measures."

 

Needless to say, they wrapped up their dispute in the next ten minutes, terrified of the alternative.

 

After so many hours dealing with nonsense, Jeanne needed nothing more than to rest and recoup, yet his usual hobbies only left him more tense. He couldn't focus on the biography he was reading, and the softest music grated on his ears.

 

So he sent for the Stringer.

 

It didn't relax him. Far from it, the troll creature with the face of a puppet left his nerves on end. It was a change of pace to the daily toil, one the Heir desperately craved.

 

The large creature lounged against his door. "Ye require my services after all?”

 

Jeanne didn't so much as grace the offer with a reply. Instead he said, "Come here.”

 

The troll moved partway into the room, leaving distance between himself and the windows. Jeanne smirked. The Stringer feared his Song, and with it feared the ocean. Yet he stood his ground against the Heir, a gesture of bravery the seadweller wasn't used to.

The Stringer dared threaten him, time and again, both openly and with careful application of his puppetry.

At first, Jeanne had no idea whether the purpleblood would actually go so far as to kill him if pushed. Most trolls were willing but unable, easily disemboweled by the Heir if they dared challenge him. Not the Stringer. 

Somewhere, somewhen, in the turbulence between the Heir and his retainer, Jeanne started to notice this peculiarly soft expression, both in the mirror and under the Stringer's face paint.

This towering troll was the first that wasn't just a toy, not a mere servant, a nuisance, a boot licker, and certainly not something the Heir could easily drown on a whim.

To put it simply, he felt  _ real. _

He was the very first person that actually meant something in the younger troll's life. What that was, he couldn't quite place. The fearsome puppeteer was hardly a comfort to him, neither confidante nor friend, and certainly not a rival.

 

Likewise, the Heir knew he was significant to the Stringer. It was in the adult's eyes, the way his attention rarely left Jeanne even from the other side of a room, the way he changed his habits for the smaller troll.

He wore clothes he knew annoyed the Heir, interrupted meetings when he should've been busy, leaned in close before crunching the shells of sea-fish just to grate on the younger troll's ears.

It was in the way he feared the watery death Jeanne threatened him with, but kept coming back like he was dying of thirst. More and more, Jeanne was certain he could never kill the Stringer, and the troll could never kill him.

It was time for a bold move, a show of faith. 

Something neither had ever done in their long perigrees together, Jeanne turned his back on the troll. For a long minute, he left himself defenseless to a surprise attack while rifling through his dresser. He produced a small box and set it on the side of his sitting room’s pool.

 

Sure enough, when he turned to face the Stringer again, the troll was much more relaxed; Jeanne's gesture of peace was accepted.

He demanded, "Watch me swim."

"If that's what ye want."

Jeanne made a show of looking himself over and sighing. "This lace really doesn't do well with water."

Without waiting for a response, he peeled off his clothes, leaving only his jewelry and choker, and slipped into the pool. The Stringer made a show of acting bored, but he never looked away, eyes carefully tracing the gossamer-like fins falling from Jeanne's back.

The great troll's usual cool presentation was interrupted by a shifting of his weight and small movements of his hands. He knew exactly what he was being presented with, and he was impatient for it.

The Heir grinned and paused in his strokes to tease, "Something on your mind there?"

"Jus' wonderin' how ye haven't sunk yet. All those pretty jewels on yer pretty self ain't light. Yer excessive." Jeanne nearly choked on his own spit. Somehow, the older troll's bluntness still caught him off guard.

He scrambled for a response, "Well- I'm better off than you! You're looking awful inadequate over there, not a single gemstone bearing your color in sight."

"Like the paints ain't enough of a giveaway." 

Jeanne clicked his tongue and climbed from the pool. He picked up the small box but left his clothes scattered.

The Heir advanced on the Stringer, posture going all fighting taught. "You need one; a stone that is."

The adult scoffed. "Meybe if ye gave me a better stipend, I could afford one."

Jeanne stopped before the other troll. He had to tilt his head quite a bit to give the other a properly condescending look. " _ Meybe _ you could afford everything on my person if you didn't squander your entire cheque on your dolls."

The Stringer took liberties, looking the smaller troll up and down. He was far too relaxed; he knew Jeanne wasn't going to retaliate for it. "Isn't much on yer person at the moment."

 

The Heir feigned a thoughtful look.

"Well. Nearly everything. This particular piece-"

He held up a hand, showing off a braided gold ring on his thumb. In it was set a tiny pearl with a lustre that shown tyrian. The pearl was rough in shape and the band much too large for the Heir’s fingers. It was out of place, so he plucked it off.

"-you could only afford this under a contract."

The older troll cut straight to the point. "You intend to put yer color on me."

Jeanne nodded and grinned. He would claim what he wanted as his own.

"What's this contract ya have in mind?"

"You keep this one, and you help me make another."

The Stringer couldn't hide the way his eyes widened. He no longer knew the extent to which he was being propositioned.

Jeanne took the troll's hand between his own and slipped the ring on. It just barely fit the Stringer's smallest finger. Then, the Heir placed the little box in the Stringers palm and winked.

He made to sit, then thought better of it. "I'll soak the cushions like this. Dry me off first, won't you?” A bath towel was retrieved and tossed to the older troll. Jeanne held out his arms expectantly.

"Prissy lil’ bitch aren't you."

Albeit protesting, the troll obliged, roughly patting down the Heir's bare skin.

The Stringer pressed so hard on Jeanne's head, his knees nearly buckled under him, a daring move when Jeanne was close enough to claw his guts out.

His movements gradually became gentler as he traveled south, becoming downright sensual as he kneeled and patted Jeanne's ass and between his legs. The Stringer gave him another appraising look when Jeanne’s arousal starts to show.

The Heir blushed and retreated back onto the sofa. He was embarrassed enough to cross his legs at first.

 

Jeanne realized his retainer was having trouble keeping his face even and his breathing steady; at least as affected as the smaller troll. Gaining confidence, Jeanne unwound, spreading himself out. He didn't miss the glance to his now-exposed bulge tip, the shift of weight putting the Stringer slightly closer to the sofa.

Jeanne cleared his throat. "You do know how to read, yes?" He flicked the box the troll was holding.

"As though the Empress would give ye an illiterate retainer." The Stringer kept his face perfectly blank as he tore open the container and read the instructions.

"If she did, I'd tear their eyes out. No point being able to see." Almost lazily, Jeanne traced a claw over the troll's cheek.

The Stringer shivered slightly under the threat. Not keen on having any holes added to his face, the troll hurried to open up the package inside the box. A series of small marbles rolled into his hand, artificial nuclei.

Perhaps the shiver wasn't fear at all, considering the troll’s comment. "Shove it in, and a pearl grows around it. Ye really aren't even competent enough for that? Haven't ye ever-"

"Laaame. Put them in myself when I can make you do it? Who knew you were so  _ boring _ ."

"If interesting is what ye want, then shut yer pretty mouth and pay attention."

Jeanne's retort was cut off by a tongue filling his mouth. Either the Stringer trusted the fuschiablood not to bite off the organ, or he didn't care.

The smaller troll was pressed into the cushions, the larger leaning in from where he knelt on the floor.

Jeanne raked his claws across the adult's back. His intent at first was to pull the other off of him and reassert control. Somehow, he found himself tugging the Stringer closer, breathing in his kiss.

The Heir hummed into it, content. The sound was just loud enough to contain a hint of his Breath’s command over the sea, a song that could summon tempests and spark a deadly desire to see the ocean floor.

His partner's tongue rolled slow over his palate and pricked against his teeth. The feeling it left in the pit of his belly was... soft, almost too soft to be sexual, let alone spiteful.

 

Still, the kiss coaxed his arousal further out, his bulge seeking friction.

Jeanne shifted his legs, still somewhat uncertain what to do with himself. He had some kind of plan going into this but... What was it again? The other troll was making Jeanne's head foggy with his mouth alone. The Heir would be utterly screwed if the purpleblood were a psychic.

That was the point, though, wasn't it?

Jeanne grabbed the troll's hands and put them on his waist. He was so slender in comparison to the hulking purpleblood, they wrapped right around his form and splayed over his ass.

The Heir broke the kiss with a sharp tug to the adult's white hair. He tried to force the other's head down his body but only got to his neck. The Stringer placed a kiss to his gills, and he melted. Oh, he had no idea they were so sensitive.

The feeling earned little trills from the Heir that stirred the draft in the room and made his gills flutter.

That was more than enough encouragement for the Stringer. "There we are. You just enjoy yer gorgeous self, a'right?"

The troll suckled Jeanne's neck and traced the lines of his gills with a large tongue.

"No one else gets to see ye like this. A shame; yer lovely all sprawled under me. 'Course I'd kill 'em for it."

His mouth moved down Jeanne’s chest as he went on. "You let me know if anyone bothers ye, alright? I'll have it taken care of. No need to lower yerself for that."

The fuchsia blood let out another small gasp as the Stringer gently nipped his belly.

"Well," he sighed. "There's this rather hulking brute that's been vying for my attentions for quite some time now… I admit I have considered having him tossed over the balustrade and drowned. But until he oversteps, he's - oh! - very much wanted."

The Stringer left a little trail of nips, his neck now close enough Jeanne instinctively reached for it with his bulge. He could feel the way the purpleblood breathed, how his throat moved when he bit the Heir's tough skin.

"So for now, I... won't need your services. Oh my, except right now, please,  _ shell _ , do it, Stringer."

The adult troll let the handful of marbles from the box roll past his lips. Around the mouthful, he said, "It's Dirque."

The troll placed a hand between Jeanne's legs, catching his bulge on a finger. He lightly tugged it to the side and kissed it, then moved his mouth to the lip of Jeanne's nook.

Jeanne's bulge thrashed, his knees snapped out, and he let loose another birdlike trill, a musical sound that kicked up a more violent wind.

The tongue that entered him was dexterous and spicy hot. The landdweller lapped at him while twisting his bulge between fingers.

Following a spike of pleasure running down his spine, the Heir felt something hard press into sensitive ridges in the front of his nook. One at a time, The Stringer worked in the marble nuclei with his tongue.

With much the same skill as his needlework, the towering troll continued to work Jeanne over, earning rather ragged pants. Each consecutive nuclei added an odd pressure to the Heir's nook, not unpleasant but new.

After the fifth marble was properly inserted, the adult pulled back. With a lick of his lips, he said,

 

"Mmm, wonder how many 'a them highblood shits would pay to watch their Heir dancing on mah tongue instead 'a strings. Yer quite a site down here, all wet an’ shiny colors."

The younger troll clenched his small fists into the couch cushions as a helpless whine slipped past his maw. A crash responded- most likely an expensive vase knocked over by the wind. 

Trying to regain some of his prior control, the Heir forced a biting retort, "Hnng-mother! That's a, a seadweller’s nook for you: lacquered. Ne-never seen one of your- fff- betters like this? I ought to, to hhhave a more experienced retainer. One with a, with a sense of haste.”

The assertion of their standings cut the larger troll’s tenderness to shreds. He replied with a low growl and slight baring of fangs, cruelly shoving the sixth and final nuclei into the Heir’s nook. Jeanne’s resulting shriek resembled the raucous strum of a troll-violin. Something was most definitely hurled through the window.

The sudden increase in stimulation had Jeanne writhing, the stinging in his gut mixing with the previous sweetness. Another sharp tug from the hand he was wrapped around, and he fell over the edge. Jeanne's bulge twisted and squeezed the Stringer’s pinky and new ring as the building pressure released itself.

The rise and fall of the Heir's chest matched the objects dropping around the the room. The adult stayed eerily silent, still hunched over his lower half.

His mouth and neck were splattered in the Heir's color, smearing his paint. It was a large improvement in Jeanne's humble opinion.

Something in the Stringer’s expression killed the younger troll’s hormone buzzed humor. Where the makeup was washed off entirely, the larger troll was flushed purple. The sanity was leaking out of his eyes, replaced by something indecipherable. Intending to ask for his thoughts, the Heir sat up and dropped his feet to the floor.

In response, he was dragged across the couch and pressed into the cushion. The world spun as he was roughly maneuvered around, blurring.

Jeanne blinked, realizing he was completely engulfed by the giant troll’s shadow. For a brief moment, the terror of the sea and skies felt...

Small.

"Think we're done jus' cuz ya got off first there, angelfish? That I'm mere service fer a squid. Nah. S'not how this sorta thing works." The shadowy figure above Jeanne rumbled. "Ya gotta give a lil to get something fer once in yer goddamned, ungrateful life."

The purpleblood peeled his pants off. His bulge was fully unsheathed and massive, as long as Jeanne’s forearm. He could almost see the veins pulsing underneath the thin skin.

Fighting passed the anxiety in his chest, Jeanne made an annoyed clicking sound at the back of his throat.

"Thats a lot of talk from a glorified  _ lusus _ ," he hissed.

The smile the Heir received promised all the things that a lusus was not.

The looming shadow sunk back to kneel on the floor at the edge of the couch, and the Heir was pulled flush against strong thighs. The Stringer silently pulled apart Jeanne's weak knees.

He hesitated a moment, purple eyes meeting grey ones. Jeanne didn't need to be coddled. He knew what he wanted, and he wouldn't offer up his dominance for it.

Jeanne said, "This is the verbal contract of ours. To make another pearl, you have to color it too. I command it,  _ Dirque _ ."

All air in his lungs left when the Stringer pressed in.

He was stretched much too far too fast, but he refused to show any sign of pain. He clamped down hard on a yell, and his grip on the older troll's arms tightened to spiked manacles, his claws sinking deep into skin.

If Jeanne had enough awareness to spare on idle observations, the manic glee from his partner would've terrified him.

The Stringer pulled back, then rolled forward again, pressing Jeanne down with so much force, his elbow tore the cushion. Twice more, and,  _ no _ , his eyes started streaming.

Perhaps, it was concern, perhaps something else; the Stringer went still when he saw the tears. Jeanne blinked rapidly, silently begging his body to obey him.

The Heir took advantage of the pause to regain his bearings and unlatch his claws. Blood, near black, spilt onto him. He looked over his retainer, taking in the scratches and realized: the larger troll was at most a third of the way in him. Much of the Stringer was still exposed between them. His arousal dripped freely onto Jeanne's belly and legs, staining his skin like ink.

Jeanne hissed and curled his lips to bare his hard maw, "Damn you, mouthbreather. You see not the ring you wear? I've claimed you as mine, all of you. So give it to me!"

A pause.

"Ye utterly petulant brat, if that's what ye want, I'll well fuckin give it to ye-"

The heat and pressure inside Jeanne was finally tipping from pain back to pleasure before his demand, but it didn't matter, not if he lost something for it.

The Stringer raised himself and slammed into Jeanne. The Heir's vision whited out and he had no hope of holding back the blood curdling scream. There was nothing musical about the sound, just raw agony at the sensation of the writhing mass sliding past his seed flap and stretching him until his belly bulged.

The Stringer twisted and turned in the smaller troll. His bulge was slicked but sticky; his movements caught and pulled and pressed on every part of the Heir's nook.

Jeanne was too far gone too realize, but his voice was crazed enough to tug at the highblood's sanity, his Song urging the troll to drown himself.

 

A trembling hand tore off the choker protecting Jeanne’s neck and wrapped around his vocal chords, cutting off the sounds. Jeanne struggled against the Stringer and, when he finally broke the troll's grip, gasped for breath.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a faint wheeze.

Dirque was shaking too hard to move and remained perched over the Heir, bulge embedded all the way up the the bone, for what seemed an agonizingly long time.

Jeanne had no voice left, and he was in so much pain in so many places, it melted together into an ambient haze. But he still had strength in him. Even broken, he was still in command, born to rule and born to die. He was more certain of that now than ever. Asserting his control once more, he demanded the other to keep going with his movements, tugging on the Stringer's shoulders and rolling up with his hips. He wouldn’t give Dirque any time to recover from the psychic shock.

The adult laughed ferally. "Yer gonna kill me."

"Yer gonna goddamned kill me, and I'm gonna enjoy it."

Jeanne grinned and rolled his hips again. The Stringer's tip curled around inside him, and he tipped past the point at which he could still distinguish between pleasure and pain. It all felt hellish and it all felt heavenly.

The Stringer was unable to refuse the demands even if he wanted to and pounded into the small troll over and over. The rough texture of the seadweller's nook was incomparable, and he felt the hard nuclei with every quiver of his bulge. Before long, his muscles seized up, and he thrashed with pleasure, filling the Heir to bursting with his seed and his color.

Jeanne lay in a daze as his partner's bulge retracted from him. The feelings the sex sparked in him was so intense, he couldn't even tell if he came again.

They remained still, not exchanging another word. Jeanne let his awareness slip into darkness. Falling asleep so close to an enemy of sorts was dangerous, but neither had the strength left to walk.

~~~

  
  


When Jeanne woke, he was alone but fortunately still in one piece, head attached to his shoulders by his own neck rather than a plane joint.

His knees shook, and he was so weary, he needed to lean on the wall to walk. A cursory look at himself in the mirror revealed a smattering of cracks in his skin- especially around his neck- and a distinct bulge to his belly from the sheer volume of the Stringer's seed.

After emptying himself of the thick cum, a more thorough examination revealed his insides were miraculously untorn despite the pain, and the artificial irritants were still lodged in his nook where Dirque put them, a thin coating of nacre already starting to pool.

He found he was quite looking forward to seeing what the Stringer looked like covered in his claw marks, perhaps still twitching from the mental assault. The Heir laughed at the thought, high on what he considered a victory.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Clam & I are kind of in love w this au, we have lots of great stuff for you, and we are delighted about it. Thanks for reading! Check out this rockin’ art of [Jeanne](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mhX242zbXi-Xk6ppyByDLYX1VKr7EPGL/view) I love it.
> 
> Works Cited
> 
> Ana. _Puppeteer designs,_ tumblebumble, 4 Oct. 2017. http://doodlana.tumblr.com. Accessed 4 Oct. 2017.
> 
> Clamdiver, writer. “troll casper doesn’t get paid enough for this shitfest”. _Marble Doesn’t Rust,_ AO3, 2018. archiveofourown.org/works/13740792. Accessed 19 Feb. 2018.
> 
> Kyuutier. _Portrayal of Bro as a purpleblood,_ 2017-2018. http://heirwarfare.tumblr.com. Accessed 4 Oct. 2017.
> 
> Pearlybj, writer. “troll casper doesn’t get paid enough for this shitfest”. _Marble Doesn’t Rust,_ bigNastyPr0nz.exe, 2018.
> 
> Solluxisms, Tatterdemalionamberite. “Xenobiology”. _Courtesy of a Digression in Captorchat,_ Rock Tumblr. http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/post/90804519865/tatterdemalionamberite-solluxisms. Accessed 4 Oct. 2017.


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